The Mulberry Tree

“I’m Patsy Longacre,” the second woman said, shaking Bailey’s hand. “I would have thought that at least one person from this town would have shown up, maybe even someone from the Chamber of Commerce.”

Bailey looked at Janice. “I thought you were from the Chamber of Commerce,” she said, puzzled.

“I am. I’m the president of it,” Janice said brightly, then looked at the house. “I see you’re having it cleaned. I didn’t know that anyone had bought it. When did you?”

“I—” Bailey began, trying to think up a quick lie. She certainly couldn’t tell the truth.

“When did you come to see the house to buy it?” Patsy asked.

At a loss to make up a lie quickly, Bailey looked from one woman to the other. For all that they were standing quite close together, they were looking in opposite directions.

“The house was given to me,” Bailey said slowly. “An inheritance. Do you know who owned it?”

“Don’t you?” Janice asked, looking at Bailey with narrowed eyes.

“Who’d you inherit it from?” Patsy asked.

Bailey took a deep breath. She should have thought of this beforehand and planned a lie. “My husband. I’m a widow. I didn’t even know he owned the place until the will was read.” There, that was true.

“My goodness,” Janice said. “Imagine not knowing all there is to know about your husband’s finances.”

Instinctively, Bailey opened her mouth to defend herself, but closed it. Jimmie kept three large law firms busy overseeing his “finances.” Instead, she smiled. “I’d offer you something to drink, but—” She waved her hand toward the house helplessly. “As you can see, it’s pretty busy here today. Right now, all my furniture is stored in the barn.”

“That’ll be just fine,” Janice said, then walked briskly past Bailey and headed toward the barn. Obviously, she knew where it was located. That she had on a suit and hose, and that the weeds hadn’t yet been cut, didn’t seem to bother her.

“I, uh—” Bailey began, then walked after her. But she halted and looked back because the other woman, Patsy, was still standing in front of the truck. “Please come with us,” Bailey said. “We’re going to the barn, I guess. Not that I have so much as seating there, but—”

“Us?” Patsy asked. “I thought you said you were a widow. Who else lives with you? Children?”

Bailey looked at the woman in consternation. Was her hearing off? “No,” she said. “By ‘we,’ I meant Janice. I do have the name right, don’t I? Janice Nesbitt.”

“Don’t know her,” Patsy said as she walked past Bailey toward the path to the barn, then she turned back. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Sure,” Bailey said, feeling as though she’d come in on the third act of a play. What was going on with these two women?

When Bailey got to the barn, both women were already there, and Janice had opened a box marked “Kitchen.”

“Excuse me,” Bailey said firmly as she closed the box lid practically on Janice’s nose. “As you can see, I’m not moved in yet. Perhaps it would be better if the two of you—”

“No one’s lived here since 1968,” Patsy said loudly, not allowing Bailey to finish her sentence.

Jimmie would have been nine then, Bailey thought, and nine was a long way from sixteen, when his biographers had first been able to track him. “Who lived here?”

Both women turned to stare at her, their silent question being, Don’t you know?

This isn’t going to be easy, Bailey thought. “My husband was . . . was a good deal older than I was, and he liked to keep his past private. I really know very little about his childhood. I’d like to know what either of you can tell me about this place.”

“Either of who of us?” Patsy asked. “You’re confusing me.” She narrowed her eyes at Bailey. “If you’re going to live in Calburn, then you must understand that no one else is in this room except you and me.”

Bailey blinked. “I see.” She turned to Janice. “And are you and I alone?”

“Oh, yes,” Janice said. “Except for the mice and whatever else lives in a barn. I can assure you that I wouldn’t know. I am as far from being a farmer as anyone on this planet is.”

At that Patsy snorted in derision, and Bailey saw the red of rage spread on Janice’s neck and upward, as her hands beneath all the bracelets clenched into fists. It seemed that whether or not Janice knew anything about farming was a touchy subject.

“I don’t know anything about farming either,” Bailey said softly.

“Then why would you move to Calburn?” Patsy asked.